


Kush Mout

by mrua7



Series: Strange, scary stories and the Man from U.N.C.L.E. [44]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Gen, Legends, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-31
Updated: 2016-10-31
Packaged: 2018-08-28 05:29:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8433583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrua7/pseuds/mrua7
Summary: Napoleon and Illya find themselves lost in the bayous of Louisiana when they come upon an old house...





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rose_of_Pollux](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rose_of_Pollux/gifts).



> This was written for the Halloween Challenge on Scrapbook, Live Journal.

 

####   

 

There was no real dry land, and with each step they took their boots sunk into the muddy wet ground accompanying them were sucking sounds as they picked their feet up; their muddy footprints quickly filling with water.  All traces of their passing would soon be gone, as they would be soon be covered in a new layer of mud and slime.

Their little pirogue boat that had brought them to their safe but not so dry haven had filled with water but it was light enough to turn over in order to drain and make it usable again.

Pirogues were cypress dugouts with flat bottoms. They were light and small enough to be easily taken onto land. The design also allowed the them to move through the very shallow water of the swamps. Usually  propelled by paddles that had one blade, it could also be punted with a push pole when encountering shallow water.

Illya stopped for a moment, wondering where the snakes were as he eyed a suspicious looking branch in the water.

“Never mind about them,” Napoleon said,”let’s just get the hell out of here before _something wicked this way comes.”_

“Now is not the time for quoting Shakespeare my friend, but if you are referring to Vlad Alucard and his men, I do not think they will be able to find any trace of us in this place, nor will anyone else for that matter, I think I am going to die here.” He tried wiping the sweat from his brow but the sleeve of his once white shirt was soaked, so the effort was pointless.

“Will you please knock it off with the doom and gloom.. We are not going to die.”

“I did not say ‘we’ Napoleon. You need to improve your listening skills.”

Solo crinkled his nose. Now was not the time or the place for trading barbs with his stubborn Russian friend.

“Tovarisch, do you want to take the chance by staying in one spot too long? I’m not any happier than you are about being surrounded by this muck. So shall we?” He gestured for his rather stinky partner to get in the boat.

Instead Illya slapped a mosquito that had decided to feast upon his throat.

“I swear these are vampires and not insects,” he growled.

Once both men were seated in the the pirogue, they picked up the paddles and pushed themselves off into the ink-black mist-covered water.

The moon had already risen, giving them some semblance of light as they attempted to find their way to freedom.

The heat and humidity were oppressive enough for Napoleon, but Illya was suffering more; his Slavic blood never found such humid conditions comfortable by any means.

The air was so thick with dampness that their hair was plastered to their heads as their sweat couldn’t evaporate. It felt like they were breathing in water.

Small trees as close as a few feet trembled as they paddled among them, with everything beyond arm’s length fading into grey and black shadows. Yet the looming cypress trees seemed to be reaching out for them at any given moment.

The sounds of the swamp filled the heavy air, chirping and clicks, the deep resonant bellowing voices of bullfrogs, the odd cackling of owls, some sounding like raving lunatics in the night, and of course the continued buzzing of insects. Huge clouds of gnats, mosquitos, and God knows what else assaulted them, thinking the two men were there to be their personal feast.

Dozens of eyes glowing red watched them from the water.

“Alligators,” Illya whispered.

“I know, don’t remind me,” Solo replied as he spotted a rather large gator, visible in the shallows. The creature, looking like a modern day dinosaur could easily capsize the pirogue if it tried, though Napoleon and Illya chose not to voice that concern.

 _“Bzzzzzz.”_ Smack! Napoleon swatted a monstrous blood-filled mosquito as it landed on his forearm, leaving a disgusting splat of red in its wake.

“Listen!” Illya whispered. “Do you hear that?”

“If you’re referring to the incessant buzzing…”

“No! _Tais toi, s'il te plait_ ,” Kuryakin whispered for his partner to be quiet in French, which for some reason seemed the appropriate language to use in the bayous of Louisiana.“Hear it?”

Solo canted his head to one side, listening intently.

“It sounds like tinkling, sort of like hollow wooden wind chimes.”

“Wind chimes,”Illya agreed.”That would mean perhaps someone is living nearby. They may have a radio we can use.”

As they continued paddling through the mist, they came upon the source of the sound. There were windchimes all right but they weren’t made of wood, they were carved from bones...human bones.

“Marking someone or something’s territory _n'est ce pas_?” Solo whispered.

“Something, Napoleon? Really?” The Russian shook his head. He realized by having spoke French to his partner had possibly opened up Pandora’s box when it came to Napoleon's awful accent.

Finally in the distance they spotted the eerie glow of lights as an incongruous image came into view.  It was a gothic style house on stilts rising out of the mist. Partially supported by a rocky outcrop; it was perhaps the only rock formation that existed in all of the bayou.

Leading to it was a decrepit dock with many’s a missing plank, still there were lanterns lighting the way. The interior of the house was lit as well, indicating someone was most likely at home.

They pulled up and dragged the pirogue onto the first bit of dry land they’d seen in days and gingerly walked along the dock towards the house.

A sudden howl made them both freeze where they stood.

“What was that?” Illya whispered.

“I haven’t a clue tovarisch, but it sounded too close for comfort.”

They quickened their pace until they climbed the half-dozen steps leading up to the porch.

Napoleon hesitated before opening the screen door and when he did, he quickly knocked.“This place is giving me the creeps.”

“I agree, there is something odd about it being here. It is not what one would expect to find in a swamp.”

They heard nothing, and Solo knocked again just to be on the safe side.

A woman’s voice called to them, sounding old and feeble.

“Dat you Ray-feel. Where you been at?”

The door opened with a slow creak, revealing a shriveled woman, her white hair teased out like a wild rat’s nest...from the looks of it a rat could actually have taken up residence in it.

She grinned, but most of her teeth were missing. The woman reeked of that mysterious, indefinable ‘old person smell,’ but something more than that. Neither man said anything, but both found her odor pretty offensive.

Given they’d been crawling about the muck and mire of the swamp, they probably didn’t smell too attractive themselves either.

“Ray-feel you come back!” The old woman spoke with a high-pitched voice. Behind her was a welcoming fire crackling the the hearth; the stones of the fireplace walls blackened from years of sooty smoke.

“Beg pardon Ma’am, but I’m not Raphael, my name is Solo, Napoleon Solo and this is my friend Mr. Kuryakin and we are weary travelers lost in the bayou.”

 _“Mais non_ , don’t you be messin’ with me Ray-feel. Why you lookin’ at me like dat? I ain’t gonna get ya like the _ta-tie”_ She was very animated as she spoke with her bony hands flying with every word she uttered.

“What’s a _ta-tie_?” Solo leaned close to Illya, whispering out the side of his mouth.

“I suspect it might be part of the local lore, a monster or the bogeyman perhaps?” Kuryakin responded.

“Why you leave me to make groceries and don’t come back?” She asked.

“Just go along with it,” Illya elbowed him.

“I’m sorry we got lost, the umm, _pirogue_ overturned and we lost all the groceries.”

“Well dat don’t matter now you back safe and sound. You must be powerful ‘ungry after all dat. Come, I gots da stew in da pot cooked just right.”

The partners looked at each other and shrugged before following her into the kitchen. There was a black cauldron-like pot with something boiling away in it, set atop a black cast iron stove.

The kitchen, like the rest of the place was filthy with dirt and cobwebs everywhere.

Illya found it odd there was no scent of the food cooking, instead the place seemed to be filled with the odor of mould, and perhaps something dead and festering. Such a smell did not help one’s appetite.

She went about putting wooden bowls and spoons on the old table, as well as a clay jug of what they guessed was moonshine. Next to each bowl was set mason jars, presumably for the libation.

 _“S'asseoir_ ,” she told them and they obeyed, sitting down in the rickety mismatched chairs that looked worn with age.

She picked up the pot by the handle and ladled the stew out of it for both of them.

 _“Maw-njay_! Go on eat.” She waved at them with the ladle.

Napoleon hesitated, eyeing the meal and waited for Illya to try it first and as he saw the Russian nod with the first mouthful he deemed it was safe.

He tasted it and nearly choked. It was not very appetizing at all. Kuryakin was eating it however, but not with his usual enthusiasm.

“This stew has an interesting flavor,” Illya said.”What is in it?”

“Oh it my special stew with catfish, bullfrog, snake meat in it, and ruts I find to give it da right flavor. I think I put some bat wings and spideys in dere too,” she cackled.” You don’t like Ray-feel?” She looked to Solo.”You always did, mais oui?”

Napoleon crinkled his nose in disgust, but deemed it best not to insult the woman.

”Oh it’s delish. I’m just not that hungry.:” He shoved the bowl towards his partner, who pushed it back right after Illya discovered a couple of eyeballs floating in his bowl. He’d eat just about anything, but there were things at which even he drew the line.

Instead he spoke to the woman.“Yes thank you for the meal, now might I ask the best directions to take us out of the swamp so that we might try to purchase you more groceries?”

“You not going no place _ma chere bebe_ , storm comin’ back. It gonna be big, big.” As soon as she said that there was a bright flash of light and a rolling boom of thunder shook the house. “Come, upstair to our room. It been waitin’ for you Ray-feel.”

“Our room?” Napoleon swallowed.” What do you mean ‘our’ room.”

“‘ow you forgot you sleep wit your _Taunte Mahryee._ You still ‘ave the nightmares. I keep you safe from them. Now come, time to go _deaux deaux.”_

“Nightmares? I’ve outgrown them umm... Aunt Marie,” Napoleon stood, and waving to Illya to do the same; he began to back away.

“You _gastons_ are tired, so I says again, time to go to sleep. I go upstairs to get tings ready. Your friend Ray-feel, ‘e can get the spare room.”

The men couldn’t say a word to each other as the moment they’d stepped into the house they were never alone, not until Taunte Marie finally disappeared up the stairs

“Let’s get out of here tovarisch.”

The agents made a hasty retreat to the front door. They were feeling as they they’d jumped out of the frying into the fire, first escaping THRUSH, and now to get away from a crazy woman.

“Wha you tink you doin’? You not leavin’ me again Ray-feel!”

She was right there in front of them, blocking their path. As they instinctively backed away from her, she moved towards them; her gnarled hands raised like claws, reaching to latch onto Napoleon. The sound she made wasn’t human at all.

“Don’t make your _Taunte Mahryee fache!_ ” She snarled like a leopard.

Without warning Illya dove at her, grabbing her by the wrists. The creature shrieked as lightning flashed bright through the windows. A crack of thunder shook the house more violently this time, feeling as if the earth were about to open up and swallow it.

“Run Napoleon!” Kuryakin shouted,” Get away from here now!” He grimaced as Taunte Marie’s strength was far greater than the Russian had anticipated.

“I’m not leaving without you!” Napoleon moved to help but Illya shoved himself against his partner, sending him flying out the door, toppling down the stairs and onto the dock.

Taunte Marie forced Illya down to his knees, opening her mouth as she leaned towards him. Her lower jaw seemed to dislocate, revealing what looked like row upon row of razor-sharp fangs.

Closer and closer she moved towards his exposed throat, but Illya found the strength deep within to shove her away from himself, grunting like a shot putter as he sent her flying backwards and into the hearth.

With a blood curdling howl, her ragged clothing went up in flames as did she. One instant she was there, the next she was gone.

Illya found himself lying face first on the ground. The house, like Taunte Marie, had disappeared in the blink of an eye.

“Napoleon!” He called out as he got to his feet.

“Here, right here!” Solo called out. He was up to his knees in water, and had been standing on the dock when it vanished. Of course he dropped like a stone.

Kuryakin immediately went to his partner’s aid, taking him by the hands and pulling him up to the rocks.

The rain was falling steadily, but the thunder and lightning were off in the distance now. For lack of better shelter, they turned the _pirogue_ upside down and sat cross legged beneath it, holding the small boat over their heads.

The night ebbed quickly, though neither man was willing to talk about what had happened. Illya told Napoleon about Taunte Marie being thrown into the fire, and what took place, but there were no guesses as to the how’s or why fors of what had happened.

Silence. Even the cacophony of the bayou had ceased.

As the sun rose a sense of relief filled both men. Taking a chance, Napoleon pulled his communicator and tried again.

“Channel D- this is Napoleon Solo can anyone hear me?”

“Mr. Solo, we were beginning to give up hope,” Alexander Waverly responded. “Where are you and is Mr. Kuryakin with you?”

“Yes sir, we were feeling that way ourselves. Mr. Kuryakin and I are unhurt but we are lost somewhere in the swamps of Louisiana. Is there anyway we can have a retrieval?”

“We are getting a fix on your signal now. There is a helicopter not far from your location, remain where you are and they will reach you shortly.”

“Thank you sir. Solo out.”

Twenty minutes later a helicopter was hovering over their position and a rescue cable had been lowered.  Once onboard, the agents shaded their eyes with their hands as the sun was quite bright above the swampy canopy.

“You were pretty lucky Mr. Solo,” one of the agents on board the UNCLE chopper spoke up. “It can be _th-ray boo-coo_ dangerous down there for strangers.”

“You sound like a local,” Napoleon said.”

“Born and raised here sir.”

“Have you ever heard of a Victorian style house mysteriously appearing and disappearing in the bayou, with an old woman...and I say this lightly, named Taunte Marie?” Illya asked.

“Taunte Mahryee, how you know ‘bout her?”

“We met her.”

  
  
“No way, she a fairy tale, jes a story.”

“She’s real.” Napoleon said.

“Don’t know about that, but when I was growing up, my grand-mère talked about the _Kush mout._..a demon that haunts your waking lucid dreams. I was told _Taunte Mahryee_ was one, a _tatille_ who would come to get us if we were bad.”

“A _tatille_ is French for aunt,” Kuryakin said. “Is it the same as ta-tie?”

“Yes sir Mr. Kuryakin. Talk of the _Kush mout and Taunte Mahryee_ brings back memories, gave me the _frissons_ umm, that is the chills, when I was a boy. I’m pretty sure she not real. it was jus’ my elders _passing a good time_ at scaring us kids. The shadows and mists in the black swamps can play tricks on a child’s mind, much less a man’s. Though I’m not so sure about the _Rougarou,_ that jus’ might be real.”

“What is that?” Illya asked, just out of curiosity.

 _“Rougarou_ come from da French... _loup-garou;_ it’s called that sometimes too. In Cajun legend it’s a creature said to prowl da swamps ‘round Acadiana and greater N’ Orleans. It has a human body and da head of a wolf or dog, like da werewolf legend. Saw it once and I wasn’t a young _gaston_ either.”

Solo and Kuryakin glanced at each other, not saying another word. They’d had their share of werewolf encounters.*

* ref to “A Howling in the Night”

.

**Translations of Cajun and French idioms:**

**Tais toi, s'il te plait** : be quiet, please.

 **n’est ce pas:** is it not

 **S'asseoir:** sit

 **Maw-njay:** from the French, ‘mange’ meaning eat

 **Ma chere bebe** : term of endearment esp when speaking to a child

 **mais oui:** but yes

 **ta-tie/ tataille:** in French- aunt,  but in Cajun it means a monster, or scary creature.

 **Mais non:** but no

 **make groceries:** Cajuns and Creoles both will say they are going to "make groceries," rather than saying "buy groceries".

 **Big big:** cajuns have a tendency to repeat words.

 **deaux deaux:** (pronounced dough dough) go to sleep, lay down

 **Gaston:** boy

 **fache:** (pronounced Fa-shay) angry

 **Th-ray boo-coo** : trés- pronounced th-ray: very and beaucoup pronounced boo-coo: a lot

 **Pass a good time:** to have fun

 **It gave me the frissons:** It gave me the chills or it made me shiver


End file.
